The simple coping mechanism of a modern day fairy who enjoys a bit too much tea and prefers to make flower crowns in the middle of an abandoned road.

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It’s currently 11:03, and I figured: What better time is there to make vent I’ve desperately searched for on a word blog that I’ve consistently procrastinated on? Jolly good, right?

Well as I sit here on a Saturday night wallowing in self pity regardless of the glaring obvious fact that I’m on vacation which should be thrilling, I’ve contemplated over quite a bit and as most sessions go, it all ends at the head point that is the fear of what’s to come versus the terror of who you are now. Lately, I’ve been a state of mind in which everything around me feels like a fuzzy, rose colored image of what it should be as I let the background fade into the night sky and the morning dawn, and people’s faces blur together as if blank to my eye, but most of all it seems the emotions in me have fizzed out like an engine releasing it’s last few sputters before giving out as it is too tired to move on. A part of me feels ensnared by my comfortable surroundings, that I’ve become too accustomed to the feathery feeling of a blanket of friends around me and the forces of family pushing me up as strangers compliment me. Another part of me realizes though that I’m simply making excuses either because I desire change as I do far too much for fear of being accustomed into a pitiful routine while deep inside it realizes that it stems from the fact that lately although I’ve helped many and made myself feel somewhat of a spark from their love for me, the love for myself ignites me as well, but in reality, the issue is me because I feel somewhere trapped in between wanting to explore everything and experience each adventure, religon, and even social cause no matter how insignificant, I feel too comfortable to spread my wings. My young age does nothing to help this, nor the fact that the words future loom over me like a dull cloud, constricting my voice into short, clipped mmmhmm’s whenever anyone asks about what’s to come because I have so much potential. In reality, I have no idea what’s to come because currently I feel uninterested, unamused, and overall bored of all I know. Even as I sit here now, I’ve noticed the changes coming slowly, but soon they will all clatter down in piles of shattered glass when one person attempts to remove or understand why I tediously carry each “champagne flute” upon me like a weight, cling them to my side although they drench my clothes in sticky liquid and make me smell of a little shack bar in the wrong side of town with one too many people chugging down shots as if it’s the holy water they thirst for to survive but one more day. I have simply changed too much for my surroundings and even the people I once called dearest to my heart. Today, I refused to even let them touch me, and instead shrinked away when they failed to notice and held back faces of putrid uncomfortable disgust over their actions. It’s when I realized how far I’ve fallen into this little abyss that I’ve created for myself, like a sunken trap in which I wait to be buried by black roses as the thorns teeth cut into me like pin points and the slowly decaying roses become the only air I allow myself to breathe. I find myself slowly fleeting further in even now as I’ve made plans with friends to make flower crowns like the woodland fairies we all personify, I feel it seeping. It comes with cold, clammy hands slowly reminding me that yes, I can barely feel the difference in our heats or the way it twists my heart because I’ve simply grown immune. Tired and sick of each aspect, but like a fleeting ghost when the sun rises, it will be vanquished…only again to return on a solemn night like this when I feel lost yet desire to crumble the earth under my fingertips like a burned piece of paper. Watching the ashes fall to the ground one by one as if finally receiving some sick pleasure from it all, this is my saturday night where I’ll now attempt to escape into a book with characters more damaged than me and hope someone slipped nightshade in my tea when I failed to look.